


when it finally shatters

by thewolfatyourdoor



Category: Royal Pains
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, slash goggles optional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 10:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5413328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolfatyourdoor/pseuds/thewolfatyourdoor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trifecta of comfort ficlets to offset all the hurt that Boris is dealt in season five.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when it finally shatters

**Author's Note:**

> Well well well. My first posted fanfic in years and my first ever fic for Royal Pains. I'm excited to bring this humble addition to the fandom, and I hope that you lovely people enjoy it. The title comes from Brendan Benson’s song “Feel like Taking You Home,” aka Boris’s Shark Injection Song from 1.11, which also works very well as a general Boris angst song. 
> 
> _So tell me something that matters_   
>  _And show me someone who cares_   
>  _'Cause when it finally shatters_   
>  _I'll be climbing the stairs_

Boris stalked down the street, vengeance in every movement. Even in his own frustration and worry, Hank spared a second to be grateful that Boris wasn't thinking clearly enough to try to take a car or taxi. "Let me help!" he insisted, making a grab for Boris's arms and trying to stop him. 

"There is nothing you can do, Hank," Boris snapped, pushing past him. 

Out of patience, Hank shoved him to a standstill. "You still don't know what Milos wants, right? But maybe I can offer him something he needs." That didn't get him a response, but at least Boris had stopped for the moment. "Just trust me, okay? We'll figure out another way, I promise. You won't even get past his security in this state." 

Hank stared hard at Boris, keeping his grip on his friend's arms and willing him not to do anything rash. Boris glared back, and for a moment Hank thought he was about to be punched in the face. Then Boris's mouth twisted into a grimace and the anger bled out of him, overtaken by anguish. Hank felt his heart clench at the grief and pain in Boris's eyes, but he didn't look away, trying to wordlessly convey his sympathy and support. 

Boris's shoulders slumped and, to Hank's surprise, he leaned in and dropped his forehead onto Hank's shoulder. "My brother is gone, Hank," he repeated softly. 

There was a faint tremor to Boris's voice and Hank had a moment of sheer terror at the thought of him breaking down in the middle of the street. He'd never seen Boris like this, not even when facing his own death, and he would have thought that Boris would always be too self-controlled to show anything that might be considered weakness. But here they were, and the weight of Boris's head spoke of far more trust than Hank would have expected from him. Hesitantly, he slid one hand from Boris's arm to his back, needing to comfort but not sure if the touch would be welcome.

Boris let out a shaky breath but didn't pull away. Hank rubbed his thumb back and forth over Boris's shoulder blade, more than willing to stand there and support his friend until Boris was ready to carry on. 

 

* * *

 

Milos had been taken into custody, and Hank felt the tension that had lingered over him since Budapest finally dissipate. After the various security and government agents had gone and some semblance of peace returned to Shadow Pond, he found Boris in the yard, staring out over the lawn in an unfocused, distant way. Hank walked over to stand next to him. 

"You okay?" he asked quietly. 

Silence stretched out between them for at least a minute. Hank snuck the occasional glance at Boris, not certain where the line between "acceptable concern" and "intrusion" fell just now, but more than willing to be patient. 

"My – Milos, my cousin, has tried to kill me and my family," Boris said at last, "and not for any true purpose but for a delusion. I cannot hate him, I cannot forgive him, and either way I have lost him. My brother is dead." A moment's pause. "My wife and son are safe. I can reclaim my life and my home." He shook his head. "Truthfully, Hank, I don't know." 

Hank winced – okay, so it had been a stupid question. "Boris, I'm sorry." 

Wordlessly, Boris shifted closer and leaned his shoulder into Hank's. Hiding his surprise, Hank returned the gentle pressure – and instead of moving away, Boris let his weight settle more solidly against him. 

It reminded Hank painfully of that moment just after Dmitry's death, Boris dropping his controlled facade for just a moment. It was enough to make Hank want to pull him into a hug, much as he would for Evan or Divya, but he just wasn't sure what Boris would allow and he didn't want to risk pushing him away. So instead he stood there, braced to support the extra weight, and hoped that it might offer Boris some comfort after a hellish day. 

Boris didn't speak again for some time, and when he did his voice was quiet. 

"Don't let this happen to me, Hank. Don't let me hurt anyone." 

It felt like Hank's heart was being wrenched in his chest. He bit back the words that sprang to mind, reassurances that it wouldn't get that bad, that medicine was advancing all the time and they'd find a cure. He could have that conversation later; right now, he sensed it wouldn't help. Instead he swallowed twice to try to get rid of the lump in his throat and said simply, "I won't, Boris. I promise." 

 

* * *

 

It was late, and Hank was heading into the kitchen for a glass of water when he caught sight of movement outside the guesthouse. Frowning slightly, he detoured to the back door – and yes, there was someone outside. 

"Boris?" 

The figure turned sharply, and the light from the guesthouse was bright enough to confirm Hank's guess. 

"Hank." His voice was a shadow of the firm tone he usually used with Hank’s name. "I apologize if I woke you, I didn't intend –" 

"It's fine," Hank cut in, not bothering to hide his concern. "I was still up. You wanna come inside?" 

Boris hesitated a moment, then jerked his head in a nod and walked past him into the guesthouse. Hank set his hand lightly at the small of his back, guiding him through. Boris stopped in the middle of the dining room, looking unsure of what to do with himself. Hank could almost feel the agitation running through him. 

"C'mon, come sit down." Hank led by example, settling himself on the couch. "What is it? Are you okay, health-wise?" 

Boris, who had followed Hank almost absently, cut his hand through the air in a dismissive gesture. "There is nothing wrong with me. Nothing new, anyway." He sat tensely on the couch, glancing at Hank and then away. "I went back to see Milos." 

Hank blinked, startled. It had been several days since he went with Boris to visit Milos in prison, and he hadn't expected Boris to return any time soon, if ever. "Just now? Is he - okay?" 

"He was…Mila. He was the little boy I used to play with and tell stories to. I see that boy and I see the man who murdered Dima." 

"I can't imagine how hard that must be," Hank said quietly. No matter how many differences of opinion – or even outright fights – he'd had with Boris, the man had somehow become one of his closest friends, and he would do almost anything to ease the pain he was in. 

"I've been having dreams. Nightmares." Boris's lips thinned and his hands clenched. "I kill him. Milos. I wanted to, when he killed Dima. I could have done it then. Not now." 

"Boris," Hank breathed. He cut off his instinctive offer of sleep aids before it could reach his lips. Maybe he'd bring it up later, but right now Boris had come to his friend, not his doctor. It was the first time he'd actually sought Hank out for comfort or reassurance, and Hank wasn't about to treat that lightly. 

Boris let out a harsh breath, dropping his head. "Hank," he began, but his voice choked off and he shook his head. 

There was nothing he could possibly say to fix this. Instead, he turned toward Boris on the couch, wrapped an arm around him, and pulled his friend into a hug. Boris resisted for a split second before sagging into Hank, turning his face into his shoulder. Hank held him close, hoping that the embrace and the quiet might bring him some peace. 

 


End file.
